


Can't Keep

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Awesome Alan Deaton, Blood and Injury, Druids, Feelings, Healing, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Or the Discussion Thereof, Sassy Lydia, Serious Injuries, Wicca, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:16:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The teacher starts class, so Stiles leans back in his chair and lets the droning lecture wash over him, his mind anywhere but here. He stares at the scrawled writing on the chalkboard in front of him and just hopes he can protect them. </p><p>There's nothing else he can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trying

**Author's Note:**

> Part 11!! Wow, do y'all remember when I said there were only going to be 3 parts? Pff. Hilarious.
> 
> This is another three-parter and my apologies, but it's all a little slow... There's some building to do and some loose ends to tie up before we move on to bigger, better, more exciting things, so here we go. Hope you enjoy it regardless.

Scott drives them to the vet clinic.

Deaton helps Stiles shuffle Derek into the building. When the vet tries to put Derek on the examination table, the stubborn Alpha refuses, insisting Isaac be looked at instead.

Derek plops himself down in a chair and Stiles hovers over him nervously as Scott gets the young unconscious werewolf spread out over the cold, metal table. Deaton begins his inspection of Isaac; Stiles is quickly distracted from it by the wet gasping noise of Derek's breaths.

"Derek," he says, palm to his stubbly cheek. "You with me?"

"Yeah…" Derek rasps out. He doesn't sound good.

"Your wounds…"

"Are healing," Derek says. "Just...slowly."

"Because they were inflicted by another Alpha?"

Derek gives a shaky nod.

"Maybe Deaton has something that can help," Stiles says encouragingly. Then he realizes that no, not maybe. _Definitely_. Stiles knows for certain that Deaton has something for healing: the eucalyptus balm. "Right. I'll ask him to get some of that balm he gave me, how's that? He can put it on you when he's done looking at Isaac. Yeah?"

There's no reply.

"Derek?" Stiles calls urgently. The werewolf doesn't respond to him. "Derek."

It's no use. Derek is out cold and—is his breathing getting shallower? Stiles places a hand on Derek's chest, measures its rise and fall; on his neck, feels the pulse there. His breathing _is_ getting shallower and his pulse is slowing down to match. Stiles gives their bond a tug. When there's no tug back, he starts to panic.

Scott and Deaton are both busy looking over Isaac and trying to figure out what the Alphas did to him. Stiles makes a quick decision in that moment that will probably cause yelling later.

Going to the cabinets where Stiles knows Deaton keeps things that are not for veterinary purposes, he hastily scans the contents until he spots what he's looking for: a small, flat, round tin. Stiles fumbles it out of the cabinet and pops the lid. One whiff tells him it's exactly what he's looking for and he darts back over to Derek. No one has noticed what he's doing.

Stiles scoops a sizeable amount of the goop out of the container and pauses before applying it to Derek's side—to breathe. To focus. To _believe_.

The rush of warmth in his blood, however small, tells him he'll be successful so he smears the fragrant concoction around the edges of the gaping hole in Derek's torso as best he can. The result is nearly instantaneous—and blatantly horrifying to watch if Stiles is being honest. The torn flesh seems to flex briefly. Then the ragged fringes of skin and muscle and sinew pulse and surge out across the valley of the wound to attach onto the opposite side in a truly grotesque imitation of a spider web. The ghastly expanse of Derek's wound begins to squirm and the flesh almost seems to bubble up from underneath the surface, filling in the gaps of the intricate lattice until it's whole and solid again.

Stiles swallows thickly and is 100% positive that he would vomit if he weren't so deeply in shock.

Eyes still blinking widely, he startles when Derek comes back into consciousness with a jolting motion.

"Derek," Stiles says, smiling and wrapping his arms around the werewolf's neck, relief filling him to the brim. "Oh, man, I thought you were dying. I mean, you were dying. I mean, I'm pretty sure you were. I mean—man, just don't do that again, okay?"

"Stiles?" Derek questions, completely befuddled. He positions his broad hands over Stiles' ribs and moves the teen back to look at him. "What happened?"

His hands curl over Derek's shoulders and Stiles hesitates, bites his lip, looks away. His eyes pass over Derek's side. All he says is, "Um…"

Derek catches on and looks down at himself. The enormous wound he very specifically remembers Ennis inflicting—by digging both claws in deep and then kicking at Derek to rip away the chunk of meat—is completely gone. The werewolf's eyes travel up to Stiles' face slowly. His thunderous expression matches the dark tone of voice that comes out when Derek carefully asks, "Stiles...what did you do?"

"I just...helped a little," Stiles says with an innocent shrug.

Derek's nose twitches and he quickly notices the familiar smell of earthy eucalyptus. He locates the little jar of balm to see that it's mostly empty.

"Stiles," Derek growls.

"It was just a little!" Stiles protests. "And you needed it! You weren't healing fast enough!"

The argument draws the attention of Scott and Deaton. They exchange a look before Deaton walks over to the incited couple and asks, "Derek, Stiles, what happened?"

"Stiles used magic to heal me," Derek spits out, all accusation and blame.

Stiles gapes at him, then snaps to Deaton, "The idiot was dying!"

Derek surges to his feet so he can loom over Stiles, amplifying his threat level. "You know you're not supposed to use magic! You're still healing!"

"I wasn't going to let you die, jackass! Besides, I'm fine!"

"Are you?" Derek demands. Anyone looking at him can see that Stiles looks a little worse for wear, too pale—even for Stiles. "You strained yourself. Just like Deaton said you would. Sit down, you need to rest."

Derek reaches for Stiles elbow and Stiles jerks back out of reach. "No. I'm tired of you and dad treating me like I'm an invalid," Stiles says, glaring fully at him. "I'm fine."

"You're exhausted," Derek argues. "Just sit down—"

"I said _no_ ," Stiles says sharply and—pushes Derek.

Derek is taken by surprise, but steadies himself easily, barely swaying. Both of Stiles' hands swing down from having batted the werewolf right in the chest and everyone in the room freezes.

"Did you just…" Derek begins slowly, looking down at his body like it doesn't even belong to him anymore. "Shove me?" he finishes with an air of disbelief.

"No," Stiles says guiltily, eyes the size of saucers.

Derek growls irately at him, eyes narrowed in displeasure, but he doesn't make any move to advance on him. His hands are held out at his sides as if he's not sure what to do with them. Or more likely, as if he's still deciding what he _wants_ to do with them.

"Don't act like you've never done that to _me_ , Derek," Stiles says in defense, voice alarmingly high-pitched. He's bodily leaning away from Derek.

Derek's lips twist into something like a snarl, but more like a frown. The low growl continues to rumble in his chest.

Deaton interrupts, diplomatically clearing his throat and effectively ending the exchange. He says, "Perhaps we can put this aside for now? I'm sure one little bout of healing didn't harm Stiles. I do recommend he get some rest though." Deaton appeases both sides with these words like the peacekeeper he is. Both sides give the other a smug look. Deaton clears his throat again. "If you're through, there are some more pressing matters at hand."

Derek straightens, placing Stiles' misbehavior on the back burner. "Isaac?" he asks.

"He's fine," Deaton assures. " _Very_ heavily sedated, but his physical wounds are healing and the drug will pass through his system with time. He just needs some rest, too."

Derek nods. He steps beside Stiles and directs him down into the seat he had been occupying previously without any fuss from Stiles. Their tiff is after all significantly less important than the other events of the evening and they both know it.

"Scott, you said a woman brought Isaac into the ER?" Derek asks, approaching the exam table to regard Isaac.

Scott, who had been stalwartly staying out of it, nods. "No idea who she was. She was young, she was black. Really pretty. Struck me as kind of a bad ass."

Derek looks back at Deaton with his brow raised.

"Don't look at me. I have no clue either."

"Okay, so. Mystery woman," Stiles says. "Tentatively a good guy. Brought Isaac in after he went looking for the Alphas."

"And found them," Derek says darkly.

"Isaac wasn't in good shape when she dragged him in," Scott supplies. "I think she...sort of rescued him maybe? She just said "the Alphas did this" and tossed him at me. I don't know. I don't know what's going on."

"That makes all of us," Stiles grumbles. "By the way. Our little Alpha twin friends we told you about? They go to our school apparently."

"What?" Scott's face goes shocked with realization. "Oh my god, those new twins! I thought something seemed off about them!"

"Yeah, and as if them following us around at school all day isn't enough, one of them is dating Danny and the other one is dating Lydia— _Lydia_." Stiles remembers.

He pulls out his phone to call her and doesn't get an answer. He curses. Scott meanwhile is busy being outraged.

"What? Danny and Lydia? They don't have anything to do with this! With-with werewolves and witches and—just— _what_?"

"That's exactly why they picked them, Scott. They're the most vulnerable, because of their tangential relationship to all this," Stiles says.

"What?" Scott frowns, confused.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "They are not supernatural creatures themselves and don't know what's going on—for the most part in Lydia's case—ergo they can't be prepared to protect themselves from it. So obviously it's up to us to make sure nothing bad happens to them, right?"

Scott nods.

"So you can bet your furry ass that if we make a wrong move the Alpha Pack will take it out on Lydia and Danny."

"Shit," Scott says.

"Exactly," Stiles says, tilting his head to rest on the back of the chair. He closes his eyes and sighs. His still-healing ribs ache something terrible after tonight's excitement.

He feels Derek's hand brush over his neck.

"Don't even think about stealing away any pain. You're still healing, too," Stiles says without opening his eyes or lifting his head.

"I'm fine," Derek says.

"I'm fine. You're fine. We're a regular ole pair of liars over here, aren't we?" Stiles chirps.

Derek rolls his eyes affectionately. "C'mon. Let's get you home," he says, scooping Stiles into a standing position, body pressed as close to Derek's as possible with mobility still being an option. To Deaton he says unsurely, "Isaac…"

"He can stay here until he wakes up."

Derek looks at Scott, but doesn't open his mouth.

"I'll stay with him," Scott says, knowing that's what he's asking. He'd be staying regardless.

Derek nods. "I'll be back to get him in the morning and take him to the loft."

Stiles pulls back at that, beating unconsciousness away with a stick to ask, "The what?"

"The loft," Derek repeats.

"The...loft…" Stiles says frowning.

"My loft," Derek asserts.

" _You have a loft?_ " Stiles asks, incredulously.

"Yes. Isaac lives there, too."

"I...what...you...you just never thought to mention that?" Stiles says, clearly annoyed.

Derek shrugs. "It didn't seem important. I'm always at your place."

"Well, yeah, okay, but still...maybe I wanted to see it," Stiles says coyly, looking up from under his lashes.

Derek smirks. "Yeah? I'll take you there some time, then."

"You better," Stiles mutters tiredly, plopping his head back down onto Derek's shoulder.

" _God_ ," he hears Scott moan in the background. Stiles can't help the smirk. Payback, how sweet it is.

"Deaton. Scott," Derek says by way of goodbye and, after Scott tosses over the keys with a wave and shake of his head, ushers Stiles to the Camaro.

"We should probably...call my dad…" Stiles says, belatedly remembering they're sharing supernatural incident information now.

"I will," Derek says. "You sleep."

"Bossy," Stiles slurs, already well on his way to doing just that.

Derek guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, the smell of eucalyptus and earth filling the car.


	2. Pushing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nothing but a lot of talking. I'm sorry. But info is a thing. It's a thing I like to have. So it can be used later. And not leave dozens of questions hanging around in the air (looking at you, Jeff Davis). So yeah. Lesson time, boys and girls. Let's learn some stuff.
> 
> Love y'all for hanging in there <3

Stiles is dead tired the following day.

Loathe as he is to admit it, Derek and Deaton were both right and he pushed himself with the little healing whammy he performed last night and now he is _paying for it dearly_.  When he wakes up and groans like he's hung-over, Derek gives him a "told you so" look. Stiles blandly tells him to shove it.

Derek makes sure to shove his nose into Stiles' hair and take a big sniff to check that he smells normal and not near-to-death or anything before leaving to pick up Isaac from Deaton's. The Sheriff checks him over as well before allowing Stiles to leave for school. Stiles rolls his eyes and lets them. The teen drags his feet getting to school, but still manages to make it on time. Derek shoots him a text to let him know Isaac is fine, but is staying home today to sleep some more. Scott tells him the same thing when they meet in the hall.

It's second period when Stiles pounces on Lydia.

"Stop seeing Aiden. He's one of the Alphas."

Lydia turns to stare at him, wholly unimpressed. "So?"

Stiles' eyes bulge. "So? So stop it. Stop it right now!"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Stiles. One: you do not get a say in my love life. Two: we're not "seeing" each other, just having a little fun. It's not like he's learning all of your dirty secrets from me or something. It's no big."

"No big?" Stiles echoes. " _No big?_ He and his snot-nosed brother positioning themselves close to you and Danny so they can keep us in line by threatening to hurt one of you is: No? Big?"

Lydia falters for the briefest of moments. "They told you that themselves?"

"No. But it has to be what they're doing."

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again. Flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder she says, "You're being paranoid, Stiles. Aiden and I are just using each other for sex. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. That's all."

"Lydia. Please. Listen to reason," Stiles begs. Not unusual for him when it comes to the goddess that is Lydia Martin. "Ethan rubbed it all in my face last night at the bowling alley that he was close to Danny and Aiden was close to you."

"You were at the bowling alley with Ethan last night?"

"On a double date with Derek and Danny and having the worst night of my life. And I've almost bled out multiple times in the last month alone."

"Derek took you on a date? How nice," Lydia intones sweetly.

"Lydia. No. _No_. Not the point here. The point is they are strategically positioning themselves to hurt us by hurting you. Please stop seeing him."

Lydia's expression suddenly morphs into a shape so sour, it could give Derek's a run for its money. "Stiles, this is my choice," she spits, the words like venom in the air. "Do you understand?"

Actually, he does now. He gets it. This is about Lydia being in control of her choices, her _life_ , for once. Peter used her, Jackson used her and then _left_ , and now here Stiles and the Alphas are trying to use her from opposite sides of the same board. But Lydia is through being a pawn.

"Yeah…" Stiles relents, "I understand. Just...be careful, okay? Please?"

Lydia adjusts her legs, crossing them at the ankles. "Of course," she replies airily. "Always."

The teacher starts class, so Stiles leans back in his chair and lets the droning lecture wash over him, his mind anywhere but here. The Alphas have really outdone themselves by picking Lydia and Danny. Stiles would congratulate them on a job well done, if he were a better sportsman. As it stands he stares at the scrawled writing on the chalkboard in front of him and just hopes he can protect them. There's nothing else he can do.

 

At lunch Stiles and Scott regal Lydia and Allison with the tale of the Alphas at the hospital. Scott supplies more details that he acquired from Isaac when he woke up, namely that he doesn't remember anything. It was clear to Deaton this morning that the Alphas gave him something to make sure he didn't remember. According to Scott the vet acted like he knew how to make sure of the exact opposite, mentioning something about a tub of ice water.

That spurs Scott to remember something. "Oh, yeah! Stiles! When did you get ice powers?" Scott asks curiously.

Stiles blinks at Scott. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't _have_ ice powers."

"Sure you do," Scott says. "You used them at the hospital. The last time I was there."

Stiles blinks some more. "I did?"

"Yeah," Scott says slowly, realizing they're not on the same page at all. "You like made the room all cold and icy and stuff. It was on the windows. Didn't you...notice you were doing that?"

"What?! No?" Stiles is flabbergasted by this information. "What do you mean I made the room icy? I don't have any magic left right now. I couldn't have."

"It...didn't seem that way to me..." Scott says, eyeing Stiles like he's the one who's crazy here.

Stiles isn't crazy. _Scott_ is crazy. There's no way he has any sort of juice to freeze a room, much less the actual skillset to do so. Although...he did perform a healing last night.

 _Everyone_ is looking at Stiles now in varying degrees of concern and confusion and boredom (Lydia) so he decides now is not the best time to ponder this. He'll examine it later when he's not under scrutiny.

"How weird. So who's ready for the chemistry quiz?"

Stiles listens as the rest of the conversation devolves into groaning and gloating with half an ear, his mind already wandering down a thousand different paths about fire and ice.

 

Stiles asks Deaton point blank what a druid is. The unflappable man almost looks flapped when the teen bursts into the room without any sort of preamble and blurts it out.

Deaton sets down the clipboard he had been perusing and turns his full attention on Stiles. "Why do you ask?"

"Because someone called me that. But I'm not one. Druids were like Celtic religious dudes back in the day, who sacrificed people and shit, right?"

"Who called you that?"

"One of the Alphas. Kali." Stiles is getting real tired of doing all the question-answering here.

Deaton makes a noise of assent, like that makes perfect sense to him. As usual he does not share with the rest of the class. Sometimes Stiles wishes he were psychic.

"You're correct. Druids were originally Celtic shamans, who often practiced animal or human sacrifice to invoke the powers of nature and receive blessing from their pagan gods."

"Okay, well, I haven't been murdering any goats lately, so I'm clearly not one. Right? And what do you mean by "originally"?"

"Actually druids preferred bulls."

"Still safe as far as I can tell," Stiles insists vehemently, getting well and truly worked up now. He wants an _actual_ affirmation from this man, dammit.

"You're not a druid, Stiles," Deaton says with a slight smile—miracle of fucking miracles. "You're much more advanced than that. I can see why Kali would confuse them though. She had a druidic emissary once upon a time after all."

"A what now?"

"A druidic emissary," Deaton repeats patiently. "Druids nowadays are usually more peaceful than the druids of lore, focusing on a relationship with nature to keep said nature in balance. And often they serve as an emissary to a werewolf pack."

Stiles' mind whirs for a moment. "Holy crap. _You're_ a druidic emissary. Or uh, were, I guess, uh. God. Sorry."

It wasn't a question, but Deaton's small, sad smile is answer enough anyway.

"So druidic emissary!" Stiles says with too much force. "What exactly does that mean?"

"In a werewolf pack setting—advisor."

"Advisor," Stiles says thoughtfully. "Wait, I'm not a druid, but...I am Derek's mate. So I advise a werewolf. Isn't that...sort of the same?"

"It is very similar," Deaton agrees. "Like I said: easily confused. There are differences though. Ones less obvious to someone who is not gifted at the craft themselves."

"Like what?"

"Remember when I told you about your spark? Druids are humans possessing a spark. _Witches_ on the other hand possess more of a full-fledged _flame_. I originally thought you were a druid myself."

Stiles understands. "But I'm a witch. And that's different."

"You are and it is. You are capable of far greater feats of magic than a druid could ever perform. Well...not under normal circumstances anyway."

"Like Cor."

"Like Cor." Deaton nods.

"So druids today...not so much with the sacrificing, right?" Stiles asks, eyeing Deaton nervously.

The vet smiles. "Not to worry, Stiles. Druids no longer perform ritual sacrifices. It's much more about being in tune with the earth and pulling power from natural forces rather than another's blood."

"So sort of like wicca?"

"Yes, almost exactly like wicca."

"Are wiccans druids also?"

"Generally speaking no. Typically a wiccan is a human being who does not have the spark necessary to produce any substantial magic, but still wishes to feel a connection to nature and accomplishes this goal through the rituals and religion of wicca.

"You see, Stiles, the earth is made of natural energy. This is what druids use to power their sparks. Wiccans seek this energy as well, but are unable to access it the same way. They can be influenced by the earth's energies, but the earth's energies cannot be influenced—or manipulated—by them."

"Earth's natural energies. Gotcha...So what about witches?"

"Witches have a connection with the earth as well, yes. They just need significantly less...aid when tapping into that connection."

"Aid. Like mountain ash or eucalyptus balm. That's the aid that druids or wiccans need."

"Yes. Objects that can make up for any personal power that they are lacking by borrowing it from the natural forces that can be found in things like wood and leaves and so on."

"Witches don't need aids."

"Not always. Not often."

"Because we have more personal power."

"Yes. But Stiles, understand: everyone has a limit. Your personal power can run out. Just as it did after you fought Kate."

"Right. Your HP bar empties."

Deaton looks almost amused. "That's one way of putting it, yes."

"You can level up, too, though, right? Like you told me about it becoming easier every time I summoned Cor. Increase your HP?"

"Yes. But you're in no state to do that right now, Stiles."

"I know, I know," Stiles waves him off. "What about aids though? I used mountain ash and healing balm. So witches are capable of using aids the same way as druids even if they don't necessarily need them, right?"

"Yes."

"So anything druids can do, witches can do better."

Deaton's expression turns dour. "You could say that."

"Sorry. No offense, Doc," Stiles says, smiling apologetically.

"Regardless of your phrasing it's the truth," Deaton says, air of zen superiority returning.

"Witches can do more stuff than druids, too, right? How much more?" Stiles' mind is flitting back to the memory of Daniel, the centuries old witch, who tried to eat his heart for youth and power, who shifted Derek against his will, who healed like a werewolf can.

"That depends. But I think you already know that."

"Yeah… Well. Thanks, Deaton. Sorry to bother you. I'll see you later." Stiles salutes jauntily at Deaton as he makes toward the exit.

"Stiles," Deaton calls after him.

Stiles stops to look back at him.

"Please don't do anything foolish," he says seriously.

Stiles grins as a beehive of ideas buzz inside his skull. "'course not. Just going to do a little research."


	3. Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho! Your eyes do not deceive you, dear readers! I just upped this part to four chapters! Still one more to go after this one!

Stiles _does_ do research as he had promised Deaton. But his research—and subsequent experimentation—proves fruitful well beyond the gain of knowledge. The young witch heals his ribs—without any aids.

In a matter of hours he's learned all he can about wiccans, druids, and witches given his limited sources. The information about wicca is the most enlightening, detailing the "power that resides in the natural" that their practitioners seek. Based off of what Deaton told him Stiles knows he doesn't have to seek out these powers; he already has a supernatural connection to the earth, he has only to find it. Find it, he does.

He forgoes the usual eucalyptus balm and instead sits in the middle of his bed, shuts his eyes, and reaches out. It's just like it had been the first time he summoned Cor. His magic, coiled and sleeping, shudders awake. He gets the strange sensation of leaves being shaken from branches. Once it awakens, the magic is eager to reach out and touch the earth. The earth accepts it with wide-open arms. Stiles is surprised at the sudden appearance of his magic, but he realizes quickly that this magic has a distinctly different feel than the magic that calls Cor. It's softer, but solid yet. Giving and unyielding all at once. It's the earth itself inside him and Stiles takes in a deep breath and holds it. He thinks of his injured ribs, focuses on the feeling of their aching and pinpoints the sources of pain, envisions the cracks in his mind's eye. Stiles imagines filling them up like caulk in the cracks of a wall. It unsettles him as he experiences a sensation like clay sliding along his ribs, but when he releases the breath, the feeling sets like baked mud over his very bones, warm and dry and sturdy.

Carefully, he stretches up, tilts from side to side, twists around and back. His ribs don't hurt in the slightest.

He crows a sound of victory, which very quickly falls flat when he notices a great sense of weariness settling over him. It's like it had been at the vet clinic the previous night, but even more in its intensity. Stiles doesn't feel like he can even lift his arms, much less stand.

He comes to understand that this is a different limb of his magic, one that has not been exercised like his blood magic has. He will need to practice to strengthen it. He still can't help but feel giddy that he's discovered a new power within himself.

But that will have to wait for now. Sleep is sweetly calling his name and he feels powerless to resist it. He knows Derek will be over soon after he's taken Isaac back to Deaton to be sure the young were' has healed completely. But he can catch at least a few z's before then.

Sure enough Derek is shaking him awake two and half hours later, if his clock is to be believed.

"Stiles?" he asks worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles assures him. "Must still be tired from yesterday."

Derek's brow draws down in suspicion. He sniffs the air. His body goes rigid and Stiles blanches.

Derek has said before that Stiles' magic smelled like fire. But Stiles had invoked another type of magic all together to heal himself. He hadn't thought of what kind of smell it would leave behind.

Derek's eyes snap over to him and he says, "It _is_ you," much to Stiles' confusion.

"Yes?" Stiles says, squinting at him cautiously.

"That _smell_ ," Derek says, approaching Stiles with a furious edge to his stride.

Ah. So this is about the magic.

Derek looms over him to continue. "I wasn't sure. That _earthy_ smell that was always there. I thought it was Deaton's balm at first. But last night—I smelled it, the earth and the eucalyptus. But the eucalyptus was coming from me and the earth was coming from _you_. It's your _magic_ I'm smelling. You were _practicing_ again, Stiles. _That's_ why you're tired."

"I...I was," Stiles admits as Derek leans in even further to growl in his face. "But it was just a little experiment."

"I don't care what it was, Stiles, you have to _stop_ ," Derek growls, a hint of desperation seeping into his tone. "Don't you get that this could hurt you? That this could _kill_ you?"

"Yes, Derek, yes, I do." Stiles cups Derek's stubbled cheek and pleads with him. "But do you understand how helpless I feel? How _powerless_ I thought I was? I had to _know_ , Derek. I had to know that I wasn't completely worthless."

"You're not," Derek says softly, fiercely. "You're not worthless. Never worthless. I need you…you can't leave me."

"I need you, too," Stiles points out, then says in a small voice, "and you were dying last night, Derek."

Derek's brow crinkles, but he says, "Yeah...yeah, I think I was."

"So you get it? You can't leave either, Derek. You can't."

Derek nods, wraps a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and pushes their forehead together. "Okay."

"My healing abilities are a good thing, Derek," Stiles insists. "I fixed my ribs. And I’ll be less tired every time I do it. I just need to practice, like Deaton said. Strengthen it like a muscle…"

Derek shakes his head, eyes squeezed tightly closed. "If you're weak, when the Alphas attack…"

"I know...I know that's what you're afraid of." Stiles sighs. "Okay."

Derek meets his gaze, hope hesitantly reaching his eyes. "Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles confirms. "I won't practice. We're not in a position for me to be pushing myself like that. You're right." Deaton was also right, but Stiles is leaving that bit out.

Derek breathes out a sigh of relief.

"But…" Stiles says.

"But?" Derek asks darkly.

"But I'm still going to use it. In cases of emergency only! I'll even use aids like balm and stuff, so it's not as hard on me, if that will make you feel better about it. But Derek. You can't ask me to just sit back and do nothing while somebody I care about is dying. That's not who I am."

Half of Derek's mouth quirks up in a weak smile. "Yeah. I know."

"So deal?" Stiles prompts.

After a pause Derek agrees, "Deal."

Stiles allows himself to smile then and he tilts his head to plant a soft kiss on Derek's lips. "So how's Isaac?"

"He's fine. Fully recovered. He wants to do the ritual Deaton mentioned to him. To jog his memory. Reverse whatever it was the Alpha Pack did to make him forget."

"Is it safe?"

"No. He has to be nearly dead for it to work."

Stiles makes a sympathetic face.

"But Isaac wants to do it," Derek says. "He wants to find Erica and Boyd. So do I, but..."

Stiles thinks for a moment. "Are there any other options? To get memory back?"

"Just one that I know of. I don't know how to do it, but Peter does. It's just as dangerous though."

Stiles nods. "Well, when given the choice between Peter and Deaton, I pick Deaton," Stiles says with a shrug. Then more gently he adds, "Deaton knows what he's doing, Derek. I think we should try."

Derek looks into Stiles' eyes and then nods. "We'll try it then."

"Good. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow though. It's almost eleven already."

"Yes. And you still need to rest," Derek says, brow raised in a judgmental manner.

"I'm fine, thank you very much. In fact I feel pretty darn great. My ribs are all healed because of that little spell, you know…" Stiles says slyly.

Stiles' words get the desired reaction; Derek's eyes darken with lust.

"Are they now?" Derek asks, voice gravelly and low.

"They are," Stiles grins and leans back onto the bed, stretching in a way that proves just that. Derek's eyes follow the long lines of his body with a hunger in them that hits Stiles low in his gut. "I feel up for all sorts of things."

Derek's answering grin is purely animalistic. So is the sex that follows.

 

They gather at Deaton's after school the next day. The room is tense, everybody wound too tightly around the hope that this will work, that they'll finally locate Erica and Boyd.

Stiles has never said it out loud, that he was the last one to see Erica and Boyd before they were taken. It doesn't make it any less true and now standing over the metal tub and tumping ice into it, he hopes that this works and that they can find Erica and Boyd. He's felt guilty about leaving them behind in that hellish basement ever since it was confirmed they were gone. He wants to find them more than anything right now. He wants this for Derek—and for himself.

Isaac climbs into the deathly cold water, shuddering, as Deaton explains exactly what they're doing. Scott and Derek move to his shoulders, prepped to hold him down. Stiles watches with increasing dread and worry as Isaac turns paler and paler. Isaac goes under.  He thrashes and Stiles grabs his ankles, while Derek and Scott strain against him. It's a rough moment before he settles and Deaton brings him back up to the surface, the werewolf successfully entranced.

Deaton leads the interrogation, telling everyone that multiple voices might confuse him or cause his heart to seize.

Isaac and Deaton both come through. They get the information they need.

They're at an abandoned bank.

But the news that Isaac delivers next is nothing any of them had predicted: Erica and Boyd are imprisoned inside the bank's vault—and there's a third werewolf with them.

 


	4. Hoping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am like 99.9% sure that Derek's bed is shoved in a corner of the main part of the loft in the show, but there are stairs dammit and they have to lead somewhere so in this loft, his bedroom is upstairs and is actually a room. For reasons.

Stiles gets to see Derek's loft for the first time because that's where they all crash after the trance session at Deaton's.

Scott sacks out on the couch, while Isaac heads to his room ready to recuperate for as long as it takes to shake the feeling of _cold_ off, and Stiles grins as he climbs the stairs and follows Derek into his bedroom.

Stiles takes in the room, simple and functional as he expected. There's a bed—a very decently sized bed—in blue tones, a table beside it, two lamps, one on the table and one on the opposite side of the bed near a solitary chair. He's delighted to see a full bookcase on one wall, one book pulled out and resting on the table beside the bed. Really, it's nice to know that lurking isn't Derek's only hobby. He kisses Derek, both hands cupped around his jaw, a simple but effective way to convey how happy he is to be there, then shucks off his jeans and layers of shirts to crawl into bed. Derek crawls in behind him and they settle together for sleep. As much as Stiles would love to christen this bed, the horrible mixture of anxiousness and worry and fear weighs too heavily on them and they both wordlessly agree that slumbering as soundly as possible is all they're going to get up to tonight. It takes a while, but they both manage to fall asleep eventually, bodies pressed close together.

Stiles hasn't dreamed since he woke up in the hospital. The drugs they kept him on while he was a patient there were far too strong for anything but dead sleep and even the prescription he was sent home with did a fine job of keeping his consciousness K.O'd as well. But Stiles hasn't taken any Vicodin tonight; his ribs are healed and his arm is recovering well enough on its own, itchy as it may be, so he left the pills behind at home. It's his first night without any drugs in his system. With all that's happening it's no surprise to Stiles that he begins dreaming once again during the first natural sleep he's had in weeks. He is however shocked by what he dreams of.

He dreams of Cor.

There's an intense darkness around Stiles that he can't seem to find his way out of. He feels something _pulling_ at him and he tries to follow it, but he's too lost in the thick blackness surrounding him to even know up from down. The signals get all mixed up and he thinks he's going the right way, only to notice a few steps later that he's not. He stumbles aimlessly and turns all around and blindly reaches out, but he finds nothing. After a few minutes a mournful howl goes up and Stiles' heart seizes as he realizes it's Cor calling for him. He screams, trying to find him, trying to tell him he's coming, charging ahead recklessly into the deep nothingness. He feels like he runs forever. Just when he thinks he sees a light, a faint glow in the distance, he missteps and tumbles away into the abyss and the light is lost.

He jerks awake, heart pounding and pulse racing. It's only after a moment that he realizes he's screaming incoherently and Derek is trying to get him to snap out of it. Scott and Isaac burst into the room, eyes aglow, as Stiles deteriorates into distressed sobs. Derek waves away the other two werewolves, who look more than a little alarmed that Stiles could be having this reaction over no obvious threat.

Stiles grabs ahold of Derek's shoulder after a long moment and nods until he can find words. "I'm...I'm okay, I just…"

"It's okay," Derek soothes. "It was just a dream."

Stiles shakes his head. "I don't think it was."

Derek's eyebrows lower. "What do you mean?"

"I...it was Cor."

Derek's eyes widen.

"He was...he was calling for me, but I couldn't...I couldn't find him, Derek, I tried, but I couldn't find him," Stiles whimpers.

Derek shushes him and draws him to his chest as Stiles starts shaking.

"I don't...I don't know how to find him."

"It'll be okay," Derek murmurs. "You'll find him. You will."

"God," Stiles chokes on a sob. "He...He's all alone, Derek. He sounded so sad. I have to find him."

"You will. Let your magic recover, _then_ you'll be able to find him."

"But he's _alone_."

"I know, I know...but he'll be all right. I promise. He knows you're looking for him."

Stiles takes a deep, shuddery breath and nods. "Yeah...yeah, he does. Yeah. Okay."

"Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Derek asks gently. His tone implies he understands if Stiles can't.

Stiles slides a hand over Derek's neck and feels his pulse for a few seconds. The bond flares up to greet his fingertips, warm and alive, and Stiles drops his eyelids to half-mast, gaze focused on where his hand touches Derek's skin and the bond dances around his fingertips.

"Yeah…" Stiles breathes out. "I think I can."

Derek leans in to nuzzle at Stiles' chin with his nose. "He's all right. You'll find him."

"I know. I will," Stiles says and for the first time he really believes it. "Let's go back to sleep."

At that Derek leans in further to press kiss after kiss to Stiles' lips as he lowers him back down to the bed. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck and kisses him back for a few long, languid minutes.

They fall asleep with Derek covering Stiles, Derek’s chin tucked over Stiles’ head. Stiles doesn't dream again.

 

Derek's loft is where they congregate again to plan their rescue.

Peter is invited to the strategy session, but adamantly states he is still too weak from his resurrection to join the fight. He'll stay behind at Derek's loft. Derek tries to get Stiles to stay behind with him and Stiles just laughs.

They have no idea who the third werewolf could be. Jackson comes up, but Isaac insists it was another girl and no, not the woman who got him out of there— _she_ hadn't been a werewolf. Regardless of her identity the group decides they're saving her, too, if at all possible. With three people to break out of a bank vault and five Alphas to fight off—two of whom, according to Isaac, combine into one terrifying Franken-Alpha—it's not going to be easy.

Stiles aside, their combatants are only Scott, Isaac, and Derek; they can't count on Erica, Boyd, or the mystery werewolf being fit to fight. That leaves them sorely disadvantaged. With a significant amount of wheedling Stiles convinces Derek to enlist the aid of the Argents. Isaac is the one who suggests bringing in the Sheriff, too. Stiles suggests he brush his teeth with wolf's bane.

The plan is pretty easy to put together. The bank vault had been robbed after it had been supposedly impenetrable. They plan to go down the same way the thieves did, inside the bank wall, then back out the way they came. Stiles balks when Derek matter-of-factly states he can punch through the wall, no problem, but trusts Derek to know his own strength. Allison is going to be on the roof across the street covering their exit. Isaac and Chris are going to be on the rear doors, back-up ready and available if it's needed. Stiles is to stay in the Jeep. He makes his distaste for being the getaway driver known, but then concedes Peter's point that if anyone is injured having wheels ready will be invaluable.

Of course nothing happens that way at all.

 

Derek punches through the wall of the vault, Alpha strength proving more than adequate to get through the thick stone. He tumbles in, Scott right behind him, and springs to his feet ready for whatever he may find.

He is not ready to find the vault empty.

Scott and Derek look around, sniffing and listening, and confirm the vault to be as empty as it appears to be, save for themselves. They look at each other, confusion and apprehension on their faces.

The huge vault door swings open and Deucalion stands there with a woman a few steps behind him, hidden in the shadows.

"Now, now, Derek. Scott. You didn't really think we wouldn't be prepared for when you came?"

"Where are they?" Derek demands.

"You'll see them soon enough," Deucalion says, infuriatingly smug. "But first. Marin?"

The woman beside him steps into the light and Scott's jaw drops.

"Holy crap! Ms. Morrell?"

The supposed Ms. Morrell looks at them with an eerily blank expression on her face, not acknowledging Scott in the slightest.

Derek glances between Scott and Morrell. "You know her?"

"She's the guidance counselor!" Scott shrieks. "And the French teacher!"

"And our emissary," Deucalion supplies, as Morrell stoops to the ground.

To Derek and Scott's horror she lays down a line of mountain ash that completes the circle surrounding the edges of the chamber that they hadn't noticed before.

"Enjoy your stay, boys," Deucalion says as he and Morrell step away.

The door swings shut soundly behind their backs. They're completely trapped.

"Shit," Scott says.

Derek couldn't have put it better himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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